


what an expensive fate

by GalaxyGhosty



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, Grooming, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mild Gore, Murder, Possessive Behavior, Rape/Non-con Elements, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 19:28:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17689445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGhosty/pseuds/GalaxyGhosty
Summary: AU.Do you understand, Seán?





	what an expensive fate

**Author's Note:**

> I AM SO SORRY FOR THIS HORRIBLE THING
> 
> So I've been...basically dead for a bit. This last week or so has been probably the most stressful I've had in a long time, with a LOT of big life changes and big life events happening and a lot of really tough decisions to make. Out of this stress, I kind of wrote up a disgusting short piece that was meant to be a lot shorter than it is, but turned out in all its awful glory. Honestly I...I hate this piece in a weird sort of way, mostly because it disturbs me on a deeper level, but I appreciated the style of it if nothing else, and it encapsulated darker vibes, I think, so it worked out in the end. 
> 
> *****Bearing that in mind, please note that this fic is NOT like anything I've written in the past--PLEASE mind the tags. There are mentions of rape/non-con (not between darkjack) and EXTREME dub-con between Dark and Jack. Some themes of grooming behavior and a lot of emotional manipulation are present, and mild explanations of _murder_ do occur. If any of these will bother you, PLEASE don't read, or read at your own discretion.**
> 
> Title and lyrics and overall vibe for this fic is "Bellyache" by Billie Eilish.
> 
> I'M OFF TO WRITE Y'ALL SOME FLUFFY ASS TRICKSHOT & DARKJACK NOW TO MAKE UP FOR THIS SHITSHOW

_| "maybe it's in the gutter, where i left my lover, **what an expensive fate**. my v is for vendetta, thought that i'd feel better, but now i got a bellyache..." |_

\--

The fourth piece of gum he shoves into his mouth tastes of blood.

It probably has something to do with the fact that he hasn’t cleaned his hands up since...since. 

Since. 

_Since_.

God. _God_. What is he going to do? What can he do? What is there to do?

They’ll lock him away forever. They’ll lock him up forever and he’ll die in a too small, four walled cell and leave him to rot for five days before they ever think to pull him out--

_Breathe. Breathe._

Jack rests his head against the steering wheel, his knees trembling, his hands so stiff and fucking _freezing_ , because he’d ripped off his hoodie after...after it had happened. Stained in the blood of three men. 

The three men who’d hurt Allison. Who touched her. Who degraded her and killed her.

God, he wishes Mally were here. What would Mally do? Mally would know what to do. 

Mally always knew what to do.

_Here’s the thing, Seán. If you ever get into trouble--_

“If you ever get into trouble,” Jack whispers, trying to steady his breathing, but his voice trembles in fear. “If you ever g-get into trouble, you come to me.” 

But Mally’s not here. Where does he go when he’s in trouble now?

_And if I’m not here, you--_

He. 

Jack swallows the lump forming in his throat, dry, bitter, disgusting. He continues to chew the month old gum that he’d found in the car, the cinnamon long gone from its texture, and he just--

_If I’m not here, you--_

“You go to Dark,” he murmurs, raising his head up. The street is bathed in the moonlight, wisps of street lamps flickering in and out of view. “When I’m not here, Seán, you go to Dark. But only as a last resort.”

This is a last resort, if anything. Jack slowly shifts the car into drive, and heads down the road to the house he’d never thought he’d see again. 

~~

He waits in the car about twenty minutes, choking down the tears as he wipes his face with his bloody hands. The headlights have remained on this entire time, so Dark, if he’s awake, undoubtedly knows he’s here, and it takes a good long time for Jack to gather himself enough to get out of the car, ignoring the lingering, gnawing anxiety seeded into his bones.

Wobbling up to the door, he shivers in the cold night air, and smears a hand over the doorbell, and hears it ring loudly into the empty house. The first and only time he’d ever been here was when he was sixteen, and Mally had just picked him up from school, but had to make a stop somewhere first. 

It had been unusual, to say the least. Mally always let him stay in the car and listen to music when he ran errands--it was one of the reasons he liked it when Mally came and got him--but this visit, Mally had asked him to get out. He’d put an arm around him and walked him to the front door, and with two specific knocks on the door, he’d shuffled Jack inside. 

What had greeted him was a tall, broad man, sitting in an ornate armchair, puffing on an intricately carved pipe. Jack remembers thinking how beautiful he was, some sort of business mogul, with his perfectly pressed suit and sharp edges, strong, stubbled jaw, inky hair and piercing, cold eyes. Mally had shut the door behind him. 

_Dark_ , Mally had breathed, very close to his ear. _This is Dark, Seán._

And Jack remembers thinking what a fitting name that was for such a terrifying monolith of a man. 

Much of that visit is forgotten to him. After Dark had stared at him for much too long, his lidded eyes searching him up and down, perhaps looking for weakness, but probably something else. Never did Dark speak to him, only inspected, and when Mally’s safe arms moved away from him, Jack grabbed him tight, but Mally said it would only be a minute. 

Mally had hurried Dark into another room, and Jack had just stood in the room, waiting for them to return, their soft voices reverberating back and forth. When they had returned, Mally had told him the most important message he’d ever hear.

_When you’re in trouble, Seán, you come to me. You come to me, and I will handle it. I will help you. But if I’m not here, if I can’t be here for you...you go to Dark. Do you understand?_

And he’d made him repeat it. Dark had never said anything, only tilted his head, his iridescent eyes contemplative. Something else. 

To be at this house again, close to that man, who, though beautiful, terrified him deeply. But what comes next terrifies him more. 

The door opens slow, ominous, with a squeak, and he doesn’t look a day over last Jack saw him, just a bit more tired in the eyes as he looming over him. 

“I need help,” the words taste of something acidic decorating his tongue. He swallows the wad of gum, coughing a bit as it goes down. “Please, I--I need--”

“Is that blood yours?” 

Jack wipes his tears away. “W-what? I--”

“Is,” Dark says slowly, the first words he’s ever really heard this man speak, low, hushed, “that blood on your hands, yours?” 

Jack shakes his head, passing a glance back to the beat-up car Mally had given him once he moved out. “N-no, it’s-- _it’s_ \--”

Dark grabs him by the arm, pulling him inside, holding a hand out, palm up. “Keys.” 

Without question, Jack hands it to him with shaking fingers, letting out another little sob as their hands brush. “I--I didn’t want--”

“Shut up,” Dark breathes out, sharp and cold. “You shut up, and you listen to me. You go upstairs, you shower off that blood. Everything you’re wearing, regardless of if it has blood, you put it into the fireplace, and you don’t take your eyes off of it until it’s nothing more than ash. And then you stay here, and you wait for me to get back. Do you understand?”

_Do you understand, Seán?_

More tears stream down his already fucked face. “Yes, I understand.”

Another hand, palm up. “Phone.” 

That tone brooks no room for argument. He fishes his phone out of his back pocket, placing it into his hand.

Dark clenches it tight. “Now, go.” 

Jack doesn’t waste a second as he scampers up the stairs. 

~~

It feels like hours as he watches the last bits of his favorite jeans and his old band t-shirt burn inside the fireplace, as he sits in the fresh set of clothes that had been left for him on the counter. They’re cold and probably haven’t been worn in some time from their slightly, bottom-of-the-drawer scent, but Jack doesn’t really think much of it anyway. 

Dark steps back into the house looking exhausted, appearing to have walked back from whatever hellhole he took the car, and he locks the door behind him. He rests a hand against it for a moment, before shucking off his jacket, throwing it over the back of the couch as his tie soon joins it. 

He steps right by him, reclaiming his place at his armchair, and Jack suddenly bursts with the memory of it, and he starts to cry again, wishing Mally were here, wishing that Allison was still here, wishing that none of this had happened, wishing that he could wake up from this horrible nightmare.

“Seán.” 

Dark says, after so long. 

Jack cranes his head towards him. Those deep, contemplative eyes beckon him closer, but to accentuate the point, he crooks a finger at him. 

His legs still feel much too weak to stand. Jack scoots over in front of him, hugging his knees to his chest as he bows his head. 

“What happened?”

He has no air in his lungs. Jack swallows dryly. “I killed them.” 

“Who?”

“I don’t know their names,” Jack shrugs, avoiding that gaze he feels pinned to him. “I just. I found them. And I drugged them. And I killed them.” 

“Why?”

“Does it matter?” 

He finally raises his gaze, and regrets it. Dark looks back at him, unflinching, with no expression on his lips. “Why did you kill them, pet?” 

Allison’s face flashes through his mind. Her pretty smile, her infectious laugh, her…

Her now lifeless eyes, six feet under the ground. 

“They hurt my sister,” Jack mumbles, covering his mouth. “They _hurt_ , and _touched_ , and then they--then they left her to die, and I--”

Another sob leaves his lips. Dark says nothing.

“I cut them open,” he cries out, and all at once, that feeling rushes back to him, the way the sinew gave beneath the blade, the sound of each of them choking on their own blood, the way that the dosage hadn’t been high enough for one of them, and the way he’d struggled against Jack as he did it again. Again. Again. “I--I made ‘em bleed, I made ‘em _hurt_ , like they hurt her, an’ I--an’ I--I wanna do it again, I want ‘em to come back so I can do it again, because Alli didn’t deserve that, she deserves to be alive and they don’t and it wasn’t fair that they--they got away--” 

Whatever his next thought is gets cut off by the rising of vomit in his throat, burning as he swallows it back down, barely. He tastes the salt of his tears and the snot running down his nose, and what a right goddamn mess he is, likely. But he can’t even be bothered to wipe his face this time, because it’s going to keep coming, the way that their faces flash through his mind, the begging, the pleading, _Allison, Allison, Allison--_

“That’s enough,” Dark says, and Jack covers his face to try and heed the words, because he’s tired, so tired, but the tears don’t stop, the guttural agony boiling inside of his skin doesn’t cease, and so Dark mumbles, stronger, “Enough, Seán. What’s done is done.” 

He tries to stop, he really does. But he feels his chest caving in on itself, the walls of reality slowly coming down around him, smashing into him in waves of horror and realization, and he knows he threw up in the shower earlier, and there’s not much left in him, but god if he doesn’t feel the urge again.

A slow, labored sigh gives cause for him to look up. Dark rises to his feet, grabbing him by the back of the collar and with trembling legs Jack stumbles to his feet, waiting for Dark to slap him, start screaming, beat him, choke him, anything, because he deserves it, he deserves the worst--

“Alright,” Dark murmurs, pulling his hands away from his face. “Cruelty will not work on you, I see. So let’s try this, instead.”

He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, tilting his chin up. Jack opens his eyes to look at him, and he smoothes the soft cloth across his eyelids, his touch suddenly...delicate. He dabs the tears away, his grip firm as he tilts his head to the side to wipe away what’s been smeared. Once he’s done, Dark places the handkerchief over his nose, instructing softly, “Blow.” 

That’s...weird. But Jack doesn’t have the energy to argue about the semantics of it all, and does as he’s told, and once he’s finished, Dark tosses it away with a thinly veiled disgust. Nevertheless, he keeps his grip, tilting his head back and forth again, before seeming pleased. 

But...the tears stopped. He can still feel them burning in his chest, a dull, aching pain, but they’re not falling anymore. 

“There we are,” Dark whispers, and Jack must be delirious, finding that there’s the ever barest hint of a smile on his lips, just at the tips, curled. “You’re a precious little thing, aren’t you? You need the kind words. The... _elegant_ touch, as opposed to...well.” 

He makes no point to elaborate. Jack hiccups, wanting desperately to pull away, but knowing better than to recoil. 

Dark raises a hand, and Jack squeezes his eyes shut, expecting something far less kind than what had just occurred, but instead, Dark pats his hair soothingly, soft and fluffing up from the shower. 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head,” and it almost, it almost isn’t the same man, that tone of voice, full of something saccharine and dangerous but...intoxicating. “Malcolm is not here. But I am. Do you trust me?”

_No._

Mally never said anything about trusting Dark. 

Another soft little hiccup escapes him. “No.” 

And at this, Dark _actually_ smiles, so twisted and so god awfully _wrong_ , some gloom hanging off of him like a ghost that wants nothing more than for him to join him in the afterlife. He presses the pad of his thumb to his cheek, brushing over the cheekbone there, still gentle, yet…

“Smart,” the way his mouth forms the words, it’s like he’s not actually speaking, but he feels it in his chest, building and building, like a static in his head. “But you will soon enough. I will make sure of that.” 

That should be more alarming than it is. Whatever barrier had erected itself in his mind begins to crumble, and that uneasy breathing begins in his chest again. 

Dark finally releases his hold, putting an arm around his shoulder, and though he doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to be comforted at all, he leans into it, and if he closes his eyes just right...it feels like Mally again. 

“Let’s get you to bed,” Dark soothes, warm against his side, “Nothing a little sleep can’t fix.”

Jack doesn’t think he can sleep off the murder of three people with the haunting memory of his dead sister, but he guesses that’s the way the cookie crumbles. 

~~

It’s still dark outside when he wakes. 

He jolts upright, gasping, twisting himself into the sheets as he cries out. The barest amount of light floods into his vision, and all at once he feels the need to throw up again. 

But there’s nothing to throw up. He doesn’t remember when he last ate, what time it is, where he is. And then he realizes he’s at the House. 

Dark’s house.

Speaking of…

Dark lingers by the window, puffing on that pipe of his that also looks like it hasn’t aged a day since Jack’s last seen it. His eyes nearly glow in the light, as he tilts his head towards him.

“You cried out in your sleep,” he says, by way of explanation. “I was waiting for you to wake up.”

“You couldn’t wake me up yourself?” Jack asks in a rasp, swallowing down what little saliva he has left. 

Dark offers him a shrug, like it’s not important. “What would it have done? Next you sleep, you’ll resume it. Best to let you ride it out. Expedites the process.”

_The Process_. Like this is a normal fucking thing. Like he handles this all day, every day, like some sort of--

Murderer. Dark’s probably a murderer, too. 

Does that make them equal?

“What did you dream of, pet?” 

Jack licks his lips, gnawing on the skin, shaking his head. “I...I don’t--”

“Telling me will make it real?” Dark prompts him, with a raised brow. “Oh, Seán. It’s already real, don’t you understand that? You can now never go back to who you were, what you were.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

Bad question. Dark smiles at him, the light not quite reaching his eyes. He sets the pipe on the windowsill, a billow of smoke leaving his lips, and for a moment, Jack thinks he’s a dragon wearing a human skin. Perhaps that would be less frightening.

“Give it time,” he says, something out of an old help book that doesn’t really work, “Right now, you rest. Everything else comes after.”

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Jack curls his legs against his chest, but this doesn’t seem to deter Dark by any means as he walks across the room, sitting at the edge of his bed. He’s much more frightening, much more terrifying up close. 

“But for tonight,” he drawls out, slow, even, “do you need a distraction?” 

He furrows his brow, looking at him warily. Dark laughs softly, in what Jack should find to be soothing, but it doesn’t quite make it. . “To sleep. While these ghosts taunt you, perhaps...you could use a bit of a…” 

Those strong hands touch his knee, feather-light and absolutely uncomfortable, but despite that weirdness tingling his skin, he mumbles out, “How?”

“So delicate,” Dark murmurs, not the first time he’s described Jack in this way, “fragile. But look at you, absolutely…” 

He cuts himself off, and Jack doesn’t stop him as he slides the sheets off of his knees, exposing them to the cold. He remains in his curled up position, nearly frozen in fear and something else broiling inside of him. Dark’s hands are cold as they smooth across his bare thigh, and though soft, it feels...weird. 

“Would you like to forget?” the smell of the nicotine wraps around him, unwelcome, but oddly comforting, the most comforting thing he’s felt in a while. Dark shifts closer to him, and Jack obediently spreads his legs, giving him full access to his body, the way he settles between them, looming over him, the gleam of horrible in his lidded gaze. “Forget all of the bad things that plague your pretty little head?”

_Mally never said anything about trusting him._

Mally’s not here, anymore. 

That little voice in the back of his mind wails.

_Push him away. Push him away. Go back to sleep. Go back to sleep._

_Sleep._

_Sleep._

_Sleep._

_Sleep._

_S̴͓̗̟ͨ̉̽l̢͎̜͇͖͓ͦͬ̀ͩ̍̌̊e̲̥̦̳e̡͛ͣͭp̣̲̘̱̱̋̐̽͘ͅ_

“I…” and he feels so small, then, caged and cornered and he wants him to go away, wants to go home and to sleep in his own bed, and…and yet… “I...I just…”

“Let me help you, little lamb,” Dark’s broad hands push up the material of his tee, the calluses of his fingers grating against him, and he shivers at the touch. “Let me take care of you, as Malcolm asked of me.” 

Mally. 

_Mally_.

Jack struggles to control his breathing as Dark pushes him down onto the bed, towering over him with that lazy tilt of his lips, his eyes so clouded over, so full of something that shouldn’t be there, no, that shouldn’t…

Shouldn’t.

Shouldn’t. 

~~_Should_~~?

Dark’s hands push down the worn material of his pajama bottoms, wrapping around his length, slow and tender, giving him a languid touch. Jack had been mildly aroused since Dark started touching him, because despite what a freak he seemed to be, he still looks fucking beautiful in an unnatural glory, and maybe if he just...lets it...lets it happen…

He stirs to life with little effort, and before long he’s squirming against his hold, bracing a hand on his shoulder as he works him, something so _guttural_ escaping his lips as he watches, transfixed, at the way that Jack shudders at his touch. 

“A beautiful little prize,” Dark murmurs, a bit faster now, giving him pumps that has his mouth falling open, trying to squash down how it shouldn’t feel...good. “There you go, pet. Think of nothing else. Think of me, _only_ me.”

What else is there to think of? What else is there to even consider with those lukewarm hands pressing him down, igniting sensations beneath his skin, in ways that feel gross, but sticky and good, like the burn of alcohol down his throat. He knows it’s bad, he knows, and yet…

“What plans I have for you,” Dark purrs, shivering and flinching at the way those lips ghost over his throat, and he thinks of how easy, how easy it would be for this man to kill him. How much he won’t, for reasons that frighten him more. “You’ll be perfect when I’m done with you, you’ll see.”

Jack doesn’t get to ask what those plans are, nor is he certain he wants the answer, as with another two passes of Dark’s hand he’s gone, spilling himself all over the sheets and his shirt with a shout, the intensity of it washing over him like a punch to the stomach. Dark croons something at him, something that doesn’t quite reach him, and strokes him through it, and Jack just--

He wants him to stop. 

But.

_~~But~~_.

And then he does. Dark presses a kiss to the bend in his knee, and the stars fluttering through his vision prevents him from responding to that properly. He pulls away, standing up straight, smoothing out the creases in his shirt while Jack struggles to remember his own name. 

How could Mally leave him like this? Here, with this man?

_Let me take care of you._

He has no other choice. Not now. 

Maybe not ever. 

“Good boy,” Dark praises lightly, and Jack’s eyes are closing before he realizes it. He pulls the still sticky and warm sheets over him, covering his now naked half. “Just like that. Go to sleep.” 

Sleep.

_Sleep._

The fatigue catches up to him, and despite the rapidly drying cum against his skin, everything fades to black.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it through the fic, thank you so much for reading! Hope you (enjoyed? i guess?) reading, and comments and kudos are always appreciated.
> 
> Feel free to chat with me at voidskelly.tumblr.com.


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